


navigating the grey

by aliferously



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Divergence AU, M/M, also there is swearing and the f word, creativitwins do be that chaotic sibling energy doe, people can be wrong and that's okay, repression?? in my fic??? nooooo would i do that, there are NO UNSYMP sides in this!! all sides are sympathetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26907262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliferously/pseuds/aliferously
Summary: Roman's path to realization isn't pretty. It takes him a while to figure out that his previous black and white perspective isn't, actually, right.But navigating the grey space in between... well, that's a trial in and of itself.--Or, Roman realizes he's in love with Deceit, confesses, and tries to realign his morals. Not necessarily in that order.Also, Remus gives the best (and worst) advice ever.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 7
Kudos: 71





	navigating the grey

**Author's Note:**

> for @willowaudreykeyes on tumblr!! hope you enjoy <3

Roman knows exactly what he’s for and exactly what he thinks. Patton’s morals are on point, obviously, morality is his _job,_ and since Roman is aligned with Patton… Roman’s perfect! Remus is bad because he’s _bad creativity_ while Roman is _good creativity._ Easy.

(Even if all of Roman’s thoughts don’t seem perfectly _good._ Even if Remus shoots him concepts that are positively delightful for his new idea. Even if they scratch and claw and fight, knocking the other unconscious for inordinate amounts of time, they never _leave._ They’re always there for each other.)

Deceit is bad. Plain and simple. Patton says so, so it must be right. Deceit lies, he _lies._

And Roman’s perfectly at ease with this. He plays his role, ignores Deceit, everything’s fine.

Roman remembers the first time he saw Deceit. _Ew,_ was his first thought, _what’s on his face? I_ [1] _t’s disgusting._

Which, Roman of the past was _wrong,_ like a lot of the time. Deceit may be evil and joy-sucking and _bad,_ but he certainly isn’t disgusting. He’s not ugly. It makes sense for evil to be pretty, right…? Evil can get more done if the protagonists let down their guard. Being easy on the eyes doesn’t hurt.

(Although sometimes it seems like Deceit hurts. In the off moments when nobody seems to be looking, when Deceit touches his cheek with a feather-light wince. Does it ache? Roman’s never had the guts to ask.)

So, when Deceit shoots him a smirk and a wink, Roman _knows_ it’s fake. Deceit’s just trying to get under his skin. Add a connection for later hurt. Roman spends more time with Patton, despite a sinking feeling in his gut. There’re thorns sprouting, and Patton needs to kill them.

“Lying is neither entirely right nor entirely wrong,” Logan tells him once, sitting on the counter with a book in hand.[2] “The majority of the time, it is smarter to tell the truth. However, some instances require lying. Acting would be the most obvious example, but also lying to protect a friend from a danger, tricking an adversary. These are examples where lying could be argued as the most moral approach.”

Roman watches, starry-eyed, as Logan slams a wrecking ball into his carefully bricked wall of denial.

(It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine.)

(Deceit is _bad._ )

..

There’s a big gap, after Logan’s impromptu speech. Years. They aren’t teenagers anymore, edging into adulthood. He and Remus don’t talk anymore (he’s bad, his ideas are bad, _morally_ , his ideas are creative but _wrong_ ).

Roman is cemented in his beliefs. Morally, Deceit is wrong. Easy logic (Logan would be proud): liking him, in any way shape or form, is wrong.

“ _Lovely_ dress, Roman.”

“I’ll have you know I look absolutely snatched in this dress, and if you think otherwise take your thoughts elsewhere.” Roman sniffs. He adjusts the waist of the dress, admiring the sunset colors glimmering against his skin.

“Darling, I wouldn’t dream of lying about this,” Deceit says. He’s leaning against the wall, smile cocksure and confident. He’s _gorgeous,_ the faux sunlight and shine of Roman’s room lighting his figure, making the shadows darker and the planes of his face sharper. Roman glances at the turn of his lips, wondering at their softness.

Roman waffles, just a bit. Deceit can tell the truth sometimes, right? “Well, um… thank you, then. I created it myself.”

“Just as beautiful as always.”

God, he _hates_ this. Roman never wants Deceit to leave. The smidge of sincerity – can Deceit fake it that well? Roman peers at him through the mirror. He doesn’t _seem_ like a liar. Just a very confident individual who wants to woo someone. Who _wouldn’t_ want to woo Roman, anyway? It makes perfect sense.

Well, _too bad._ Roman is a good person and will not become involved with a bad person. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, being held back.

..

Roman has a lump in his throat at any given moment. He swallows, rubbing his collarbone. Panic claws from behind his teeth. Patton smiles at him; Roman feels like crumbling into dust. Virgil shoots him one singular worried glance and Roman turns his personality up to an eleven; after that, Virgil’s tolerance and sympathy for Roman slips away. [3] [4] 

Logan keeps arguing. By this point, Roman knows Logan’s wrong. What kind of fool would believe that surviving[5] is the same as living? And since Logan is wrong about Thomas’s way of life, then he must be wrong about Deceit, too.

(Logan’s words from all those years ago ring, constantly, in Roman’s ears.)

(But he’s wrong because Logan doesn’t know morals like Patton does. He doesn’t know emotion like Roman and Patton. Then, he doesn’t know the goodness or badness of Deceit. He can’t. He can’t.)

“I [6] just don’t know what to do,” Patton says. They’re both wrapped in blankets, the fluffiest Roman could conjure. There’s a roaring fire, fake snow falling outside a fake window. It’s the middle of summer, but Roman never lets that stop his imagination.

“His sugar-coated words worm their way into everything,” Roman says. He inflicts disdain into his voice – it’s easy, painfully easy, and the words drip like poison down his lips.

Patton makes a small noise. “He’s so strong, too. I’m worried about Thomas. Logan, too, but he’s a tough cookie to crumble. Virge… he’s incredibly wary of him.” [7] 

“Rightfully so.”

“Yeah…”[8] 

Roman turns his head to stare out the window, avoiding Patton’s eyes. “Thomas doesn’t know about him.”

“Not yet…”

“Then let’s just pretend he doesn’t exist, yeah?”

Roman’s gaze strays and he sees Patton smile, softening in the flickering firelight. “That sounds good.”

Relief shoots through Roman’s veins like starlight. If Thomas doesn’t know about Deceit, then there’s no way he could know about Roman’s traitorous thoughts. The horrific way Roman’s mind latches onto Deceit’s voice. Thomas would find him out in a second, probably.

Roman is his hero, his beacon. Roman doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost that.

..

Roman’s lying more and more as the day goes on. Deceit is revealed to Thomas; it goes better and worse than he thought it would. He and Logan finally blow up at each other and it’s a _very_ confusing experience, to say the least. Good and bad, all at once, which… isn’t something Roman thought could happen.

And then. _And then._ They argue in the courtroom.

Roman…

He just…

Lawyers in movies are usually, like, _bad._ (Except for the queen herself, Elle Woods, obviously). But Patton and Deceit were lawyers, and they were fighting, and Roman backs Patton until the end of time, of course, but Patton was… Patton was _losing._ Badly. He brings up good points but it’s all just “because”, nothing concrete.

Roman’s whole deal is ego. That’s his _job_ . He’s self-confidence, pride… the entire package.[9] Patton saying that they should ignore the callback because of friendship and love and “it’s the selfless thing to do”… Roman doesn’t _agree._ And it’s hurting him.

But he’s an actor, and Patton is his friend, and Deceit is _wrong._ Roman argues, laughs, he’s in a place of power, he has everything. _Tell him what’s right. Tell him what’s wrong._ Patton must be right, because he is morals, and therefore they should go to the wedding and skip the callback. Even if Roman (traitor) wants to go to the callback. Simple.

But Patton loses, and Roman makes his choice.

(Is it right, is it wrong, _tell him please, he needs to know_ –)

They don’t go to the callback. Deceit’s face crumbles, and Roman’s the only one who sees. Deceit’s face cracks and he sees the desperation, the frustration, the helplessness.

The world is static of voices and shock. Roman stares at Deceit, and Deceit meets his gaze, pain shining clear as day. Roman feels like a traitor, despite originally choosing to not betray Patton and Thomas. And staring at Deceit, it’s just… Roman doesn’t feel like he betrayed Deceit, or whatever odd relationship they shared.

Deceit’s eyes crinkle. The moment before he disappears, vanishing to the depths of Thomas’s mind, all Roman can think about is how sorry Deceit looks. Sorry for the situation. Sorry for the results.

( _Did he make the right choice? Tell him, tell him._ )

As Roman sinks out, the courtroom vanishing, he finally sees the grey area that they’d landed in. The black and white blurring. Red and gold mixing. The lump in his throat choking, leaving him gasping for air.

..

Roman cannot accept his feelings for Deceit, the way that his heart jumps whenever he catches sight of him, or the visceral joy that jolts his entire body when he speaks. He cannot accept the way Deceit avoids his gaze with cheeks the color of sunrise, the awkward skip of his fingers on a cane when they bump into each other (how does that happen? How can they simply run into one another?).

He can, however, accept Remus knocking him out for an entire video. That makes sense. Remus pops in like he always does, scarring everyone, stepping on Roman’s head one time or three. Nostalgia should not be his first reaction to being bludgeoned with a mace, but. Remus is not a traditional brother. [10] 

Afterwards, Roman’s sitting in his room, playing with makeup highlighters, coloring his skin with glitter, and the wall explodes.

“Could you knock?” Roman says, words sour. He flicks his wrist and the wall pulls back together, red curtains shining, gilded with gold. “What do you want?”

“Deceit wants you,” Remus says. Well, screeches, cackles, whatever.

The velocity at which Roman turns should be embarrassing, but Roman doesn’t care, because _what?_ Deceit wants him? What does that mean? Wants like, wants to hurt? Probably not, Deceit isn’t the type to physically attack, that’s much more Remus’s wheelhouse. Wants his ideas, his creativity? Wants…

“What?” Roman snaps, knowing his eyes are giving away how much he cares. He attempts to layer on a stone-face, but from the immediate glee that shimmers in Remus’s gaze, he knows he’s failed.

“Just kidding!” Remus coos. “Aww, you looked so excited. And now you’re angry! So much fun! Oh, wow. I think he does want you; he just won’t say it. And you want him! That’s fun.”

“You’re the worst,” Roman says, tasting fear, visceral, on his tongue. He turns around to hide the panic. “Go away.”

“You’re literally the sweetest, I might just stab you and eat your guts. Um, but I’m bored, and I want you to entertain me.”

“Just because Thomas knows about your existence doesn’t mean years of bad blood goes away,” Roman snaps. “I haven’t dealt with you for years and I’m not going to now.”

The silence is louder than anything Remus could have said. Regret, sharp and bitter, stabs into Roman. He turns. Remus is examining a glass bauble with fake interest, fingers trembling.

Roman opens his mouth, closes it. The grey area is nebulous. Roman doesn’t know how to navigate it. _Lying is neither entirely right nor entirely wrong._ Perhaps Logan had been right about one thing. Things aren’t entirely right nor entirely wrong. Many things. And maybe Thomas screwed them over by having two separate creativities with seemingly good and bad tendencies.

That doesn’t mean they have to fall into their roles.

Remus is trying. Deceit is trying. Hell, Virgil’s been fighting an uphill battle since day one.

“I’m…”

“Right, aren’t you?” Remus interrupts. He makes an aborted movement to throw the bauble. It’s weak, and the glass falls from his fingertips, clacking to the ground with an anticlimactic thunk.

“I don’t know,” Roman says, and it’s the most honest thing he’s ever said. He shrugs when Remus glances at him. “I don’t know. I’m probably wrong, right? But I know I am sorry. For… the comment.”

“Your words hold a lot of power,” Remus says. He sniffs, but it’s not to hold back tears. “When you go quiet it’s easier for other people to take over.”

“Nobody listens to me.”

“Everyone listens to you.” Remus flops backwards, a chair materializing at the last minute. “Deceit hangs onto your every word. It’s disgusting.”

“He does not,” Roman says. There’s no way.

“And you hang onto his every word. It’s horrific. I’d rather watch Mr. Clean commercials on repeat.” Remus flicks his fingers, and a toilet plunger appears. “I want to suction Mr. Clean’s face off.”

“A vacuum would work better than a plunger,” Roman says before he can think. He makes a face at Remus’s delighted sound, and at the consequent _fourteen_ vacuums that appear in his room. “Shut up.”

“I see you changing the subject. Which is easy with me! I get distracted so easily. Thomas should get a tattoo.” [11] 

“I’ve been telling him this for the past five years,” Roman says.

“An octopus, obviously.”

“Naturally. I like the idea of a crown.”

“Boo. Too on brand.”

“And an octopus isn’t? Your whole _musical sequence_ had tentacles squirming all over it.”

“You should tell Deceit how you feel.”

Roman freezes. Remus cackles at his rigidity. Which. _Rude._

“I can’t do that,” Roman says. Because it’s true, isn’t it?[12] Remus wouldn’t say that if Roman felt anger or hate[13] towards Deceit.

“Why? Also make that green,” Remus says. His bedspread goes puke green.

“Because Deceit actually _hates_ me. For lots of things but especially for choosing the wedding. And literally get _bent._ ” Roman changes the bedspread back to cream.

“Okay,” Remus says.

There’s a loud cracking noise and Roman isn’t looking, isn’t looking, he’s – _ew,_ ew, “Remus, you’re _disgusting.”_

“Ugh, you’re too lovely, too kind. Also, he does _not_ and if I have to hear one _more_ thing about your pretty little eyes I am going to gouge them out myself.”

Roman lifts a hand to his eyes, blinking. “My eyes?”

“God damnit,” Remus says. He leans forwards, his chair shifting with him. “Please. Please. He can wax poetic to your face instead of mine. Like, eating my daily dosage of beetles is my _me_ time, I don’t need Deceit mucking it up talking about _you_ because he can’t keep his thoughts in a fucking, diary or something.”

“Diaries are really bad at keeping secrets. Mine always ended up in the common area.”

“Oh, yeah, that was me,” Remus says. He ignores Roman’s indignant stare. “Honest to Jesus. From one creativity to another. Confess to the bastard.”

Roman sniffs. “I’m not taking advice from someone who bathes in tar and mayo.”

“It brings out my natural _oils,_ you know this!” Remus yells. “Jeez, no appreciation for all body types. I see how it is.”

Roman hums. There’s a chance at an actual, genuine piece of advice, but Roman doesn’t know if he should grab at it. Vulnerability, while something Roman practices frequently, never gets easier.

“He…” Roman stops. He fiddles with his sash. “Er…”

Remus stares at him. His lips are shut tight. Most notably, he’s sitting _still._

“He…” Roman glances at him, gaze flicking between Remus’s _death stare_ and the wall. “Uh… He… can you _stop staring at me like that!_ ”

“I thought quiet would _help!”_ Remus snaps. He groans, loudly, and it’s like a frog jumped into the room. “God. You’re the worst.”

“ _You’re_ the worst.” Roman shoots back. “We can’t have one normal conversation. I hate it here.”

“Just say what you’re thinking, it’s not that hard.”

“It – it _is!_ It is! I like him a lot and I don’t want him to hate me but I’m positive that he does, and so there’s no way for me to confess because I’m sensitive and I don’t want to be laughed at!” Roman spits out. He slumps back in his chair, groaning and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Remus laughs, long and loud. It carries on for long enough that Roman shifts from pouting to outright glaring as Remus cackles away, enjoying himself far too much. Roman’s ears burn red. Heat pulses from his neck and cheeks.

“Shut up,” Roman says. Remus snickers, high pitched. Roman has the sudden urge to banish him from his room or something, just to get his voice out of Roman’s audible range.

“There,” Remus says, because he’s a fucking nightmare. He stomps both feet on the ground. “Now you have been laughed at! Go confess.”

Roman stares at him. From Remus view it would seem like he was almost being _considerate_. From a normal person’s view, he’s still a nightmare of a being with no regard for human emotion. “Being laughed at by you while in a vulnerable position and being laughed at by Deceit whilst confessing to him are two completely different things. But thank you for humiliating me in my own room, I appreciate it.”

“Jeez, sass lessons from Virge, alright,” Remus says. He stares off into the distance, face twisting unnaturally. “I… want to eat your heart.”

“Okay,” Roman says. He sighs. “Remus, thanks for trying, but I’m not going to… I just barely accepted it myself, I’m not…”

“But he sulks around all the time! Please please please please please please please just for my sanity,” Remus begs, sliding to the ground on his knees.

“This is _my life_ , please get out,” Roman says. He pushes his foot at Remus in a halfhearted attempt to push him.

“For real, though?” Remus peers at him, gaze suddenly sharp as a dagger. Roman swallows. “You’re a catch. He literally would never consider denying you or laughing at you and if he does, I’ll just put leeches in his socks. And gloves. Ooh, popcorn kernels in the HEATING LAMP! Yeah, I’m doing that anyway. So like get laughed at, now I have a good excuse. But you won’t, so…” Remus shrugs. “Also if this is about the whole moral implications of liking someone bad, um, tell that to Patton accepting Virgil. Pussy.”

Roman snorts, against all odds. He covers his mouth, pointedly ignoring the smile stretching across Remus’s face. His heart feels lighter, somehow. Like the world won’t fall apart at the seams the moment Roman opens his mouth.

Curse Remus and his stupid comfort, his stupid encouragements. Roman almost wants to follow his advice, throw caution to the wind, and confess. High risk, high reward.

He imagines loving Deceit, Deceit loving him back… Roman’s face warms.

“Ew ew ew I’m leaving,” Remus says. He stands up, stretching his arm much longer than a normal human length, bones cracking a thousand and one times. “This is gross. You’re gross. I’m going to eat some turtle plastic.”

Roman blows him an obnoxious kiss as Remus vanishes out the door, leaving a potent trace of fish three days rotten[14] .

..

Roman’s confused. They went to the wedding. He feels awful, which is the opposite of what he should be feeling. They did the morally upright thing, ignoring their self-progress to help their friend. Right?

Except talking with Patton doesn’t feel like a relief, anymore. He doesn’t feel _better,_ and Patton seems like he’s grasping at straws, fighting for something he’s so lost in he doesn’t know where he began. Everyone’s targeting Patton, and it’s strained and horrible and Logan’s in a fucking _box_ and then Patton’s a giant, yelling, emotional _frog._

And Deceit’s there.

And he’s on… he’s on the other side.

Which Roman shouldn’t be surprised at, since, well, Roman is on Patton’s side, and Deceit and Patton have never seen eye to eye. Roman’s heart shouldn’t jump to his throat when he hears Deceit’s voice. His heart consequently crashing down to his feet, though, when Deceit is arguing with him (with Patton, with him, with them _both_ ) isn’t a surprise. Roman’s always been too soft for his own good.

Patton’s his friend! Officially, publicly, whatever! They’re _friends,_ they’ve been friends! Roman is a knight, and Roman defends his friends, and he hardly knows what’s coming out of his mouth at this point, but he knows that he’s backing Patton and everything’s _fine._

Until Patton’s on… the other side.

And Roman’s alone.

Deceit’s words make a lot of sense – like – they always have! Roman loves listening to him talk, he could listen to him all day. Even when he’s lying, he’s beautiful, but that love confession seems further and further away the longer this goes on because Roman _agrees_ but he’s been backing Patton all along.

It’s not – it’s not _fair!_

Roman’s wanted to follow Deceit’s words this whole time! Patton can’t just swoop in and agree and make it all okay!

“Why don’t we move on to something we’re both familiar with, Roman?” ( _Mistakes._ )

It’s like being shot in the stomach.

_“It was a net loss.”_

The spotlight is on him, and it’s sharp as a dagger. Every flaw on display in the achingly florescent lights. Somewhere Roman registers Deceit as extending an olive branch, _you deserve selfishness,_ as Thomas’s ego. But that part of him curls up tight, surrounded by brick walls. He’s tired, he’s sick and _tired_ of sacrificing his adoration of Deceit to be _good_ but he doesn’t know how else to be.

Roman’s standing on the wall erected around his heart. The wall in place because he wasn’t _right,_ he wasn’t _strong,_ he wasn’t _good._ And the fact that all that _acting_ was for naught because Patton can turn around and give Deceit a seat at the table? After all of them ridiculed and patronized Roman whenever he would speak well of Deceit?

(“We can’t trust him,” Patton told [15] him days months years ago.)

“We can’t _trust_ him,” Roman insists. He thinks to the side smiles and the wayward laughs. The fluttering touch, the rumble of his voice in Roman’s ears. Roman’s heart aches, it aches and aches and bruises. He takes a breath before his voice cracks, “ _How_ can we trust him?”

And then.

And then.

And then.

“My name is Janus.”

Roman’s world falls apart.

..

“Janus?” Roman says. He’s a thousand miles away, words flickering on his tongue like static. He’s pictured this moment a million times, of course. Daydreams about it before he falls asleep.

_Roman and Deceit curl up on the sofa, hot chocolate in hand, sharing blankets while the world outside whispers. They murmur and laugh at inside jokes and then Deceit leans in close, lips pressed against his ear. “My name is—"_

_Roman shows him one of his productions. It’s huge, mechanisms of which Broadway could only dream, musical numbers that would make Andrew Lloyd Webber cry. Roman blends in perfectly with the reds and golds of the theater and is fully in his element. The show ends, standing ovation, Deceit and Roman share a victory hug amidst the tears afterwards, Deceit whispers, “Incredible. Beautiful. I need to tell you something: My name—”_

_They’re making some sort of baked good in the kitchen. It depends on the night which baked good Roman settles on dreaming about: cookies, cakes, brownies, pies. There’s flour where there shouldn’t be and they’re giggling like children. Roman reprimands Deceit for something, the fondness overtaking any exasperation. Deceit laughs, and says, “No, no, not Deceit, my—”_

_“My name is Janus.”_

Roman stares at him across the stark living room. The moment is as far from intimate as physically _possible._ Roman wants to throw up. Roman wants to scream and shout and cry, run away to the top of his highest tower and never come down.

He’s not even _looking_ at him. Deceit – Janus’s gaze is carefully trained on Thomas. “It wasn’t…” Roman talks, the words spilling from his lips, overflowing like a cup forgotten under a flowing sink. He’s quiet, achingly quiet. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

Janus glances to him. His gaze is dismissive, defensive. Roman can read his expression; he wears the same one every day. “Sorry?”

Roman’s past lying, past acting. The walls around his heart are straining, threatening to burst with everything locked up inside.

Something in Roman’s expression causes Janus to widen his eyes, deflection fading into surprise, wonderment. Roman _hurts._ “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!”

Thomas and Patton visibly recoil from Roman’s outburst. Patton laughs, awkwardly, gaze darting between them and Thomas. “Ha, uh, buddy—”

“ _What_ wasn’t supposed to happen like this?” Janus says. He stares Roman down, not flinching.

Roman waffles under his gaze, shrinking back like a violet. “I – your – you weren’t supposed to tell me your name like this! It was supposed to be _different._ ” And horror of horrors: his voice cracks _._ [OKM16] [17] 

“Different,” Janus says. He’s hiding hurt, somewhere, Roman imagines. Right now, he’s detached. “Me telling _you_ my name was supposed to be different. I don’t know if you’re aware, Roman, but this is about you _and Thomas,_ and Patton, and every other side _trusting_ me.”

He’s selfish. He’s selfish he’s selfish he’s _selfish_ and everyone else is _suffering for it._ Roman’s horrible, he’s this terrible awful person who—

Who—

Wait, didn’t Janus _just_ tell Thomas to be selfish?

Wasn’t that what this whole debate was about?

To take what you want for your own mental health?

Roman closes his eyes. He remembers what Remus told him, to say what he was thinking without considering the fallout. Roman takes a breath; everything feels much easier in the dark. “I didn’t want to hear it in _order_ to trust you, I wanted to hear it because you _know_ I trust you!”

At the dead silence following his outburst, Roman opens his eyes. He’s grounded, somehow. Remus has done worse. _Stand your ground._ Confidence. _True_ confidence, not that fake acting stuff. Janus looks winded. Thomas is confused, Patton’s eyes are wider than saucers.

“I trust you!” Roman all but yells. He takes a breath; _tone it back._ “I trusted you when I _shouldn’t_ have. I’m… I’m…”

 _Spit it out. Spit it out!_ “I’m in _love_ with you and I’m tired of needing to _hide it!”_

Quiet.

Patton murmurs to Thomas, off to the side. There’s a tug in Roman’s gut and suddenly he and Janus are in the mind palace version of the living room, Thomas and Patton nowhere to be seen.

Janus looks like he’s trying to build up his impassive façade and failing, cracks of emotion spilling out like searchlights. He opens his mouth, closes it. Says, “You – I – uh…”

Roman clings to his rapidly fading electric confidence. “I am in love with you.” Hold fast. Stand your _ground._ Remus will never let him hear the end of this if he backs down now. Make eye contact, right? Roman holds his breath. The world could fall to pieces around him and he wouldn’t notice.

Janus is quiet. _Too_ quiet. Liquid presses at the backs of Roman’s eyes, but he refuses to let it fall. Janus is just standing there, wonderment in his eyes, frozen in place.

Roman’s heart splinters. “Janus,” he cracks, voice whisper quiet.

Janus flinches. Blinking rapidly, Janus meets his gaze. “Roman.” Roman watches, transfixed, as Janus carefully pieces himself back together again; shoulders straightening, expression clearing.

“You’re not lying to me?” Janus says. He peers at Roman, eyebrow twitching, giving away his uncertainty.

Roman laughs. It echoes in the hollow of his throat. “Wouldn’t you be able to tell?”

“I am not a living lie detector,” Janus says. He sounds indignant, and Roman laughs harder, tears pressing at the corner of his eyes.

Janus softens. “Roman.”

“I’m sorry. I’m – I’m sorry,” Roman chokes. He presses his palms against his eyes, trying to push the water back in. His hands slide over his face, slipping on salt. “I’m s…” a sob wrenches from his throat. This is the _last_ thing Roman wants. Breaking down after a confession.

“No,” Janus murmurs. “No, no, no, oh _Roman._ ” Fingers wrap around Roman’s wrists, tugging gently. “Darling, look at me.”

Roman hiccups. He lets his hands be pulled away, staring watery eyed at Janus.

Janus holds their hands between them. His grip tightens uncertainly. “I don’t… this wasn’t… you weren’t supposed to feel anything for me.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Roman says, exhaling a warbled laugh.

“No, that’s not—” Janus’s fingers grow tense against Roman’s own. “ _Fuck._ I – wasn’t expecting to confess right now, in this situation. You make things so difficult for me.”

“My specialty.”

“If you make – one more crack about your own self-worth, I will have no choice but to smite you.” [18] 

“You set them up so easily for me, it’s hard not to jump at the opportunity.”

Janus scoffs, and Roman realizes that his eyes are drying. He sniffs, wiping at his cheeks.

Janus pulls at Roman’s wrists again, clinging to his hands. “Roman. I’m, uh… I like you too.”

Roman blinks one, two, three times. Something devastatingly like hope clogs in his throat. “You’re, um. Please tell me you mean romantically, because otherwise I might have another breakdown.”

Janus’s expression crinkles in one quick exhale. “Romantically. I planned on never… um, never telling you.”

Roman inhales, long and slow. He smiles, hesitant. “Well, that’s a shame.”

“You were against me,” Janus explains. It hurts, but it’s true. Roman has no idea what his expression’s doing right now, but it can’t be good. Janus continues, saying, “You are the knight and I the villainous snake, yeah?”

“Nothing’s so black and white,” Roman says. He grins at Janus’s resulting incredulous scoff. Roman’s smile tapers off, though, as he says, “I am, uh, sorry about how this all happened, though. I wanted to confess, but… not like this.”

“You wanted to confess,” Janus repeats, wonder in his voice. “Roman, the prince, wanted to confess. To _me._ ”

Roman makes a face. “Stop making it sound like a bad thing.”

“I think the confession went fine. It happened, that’s the good thing, right?” Janus says. He takes a step into Roman’s space.

“I guess,” Roman mutters. He holds fast to Janus’s hands. There are little scales on the backs of them and he can’t stop running his fingers over them. “It wasn’t very romantic, though.”

“Well, we can certainly make that up, yeah?” Janus says. He exhales, the air brushing against Roman’s cheek.

Roman shudders. He leans forward, pressing their foreheads together and locking their gazes. “Anything you want.”

Janus falters, cheeks pinking. His lips look soft, but Roman keeps his gaze trained on Janus’s eyes. “I want to stay with you, here.”

Roman smiles. “Then stay.”

_Stay._


End file.
